Window etiquette
by Dilapidated- queen-of-all
Summary: Stiles continues lounging, the picture of nonchalance as he hears his window slowly lift. He makes pretence of heaving a pronounced long suffering sigh. "We've talked about this whole knocking thing remember, what if I'd been indecent? Window etiquette's totally gone to hell this century." - or where Peter comes in through his window one night banter and hilarity ensues. Steter.
1. Window etiquette

**Hey there ! I'm pretty much writing this fic for my own sanity but by all means feel free to read it! I think its hilarious but then I've got Peter Hale living in my head...so I'm going to assume my judgement is probably minutely compromised. There is absolutely no hardcore scenes in the first 10 chapters of that I can assure you! But it will be coming! heh heh heh * innuendo*. Anywho as always the characters are not mine. Their ridiculous banter and interactions however are. Leave me some love..or hate if you're so inclined :P. X.**

Stiles was lounging on his stomach with Deadpool ripping the guts out of his enemy and wearing the intestines as some sort of sick boa 2 inches from his face when the tell-tale skittering on tile sounded from out his window. He smirks to himself as he licks his thumb and turns the page with a smug sort of satisfaction. Ever since Scott had been bitten that sound was one that he was most attuned to. Well that and the creak of the middle stair which announced his father; who refused to master the **art** of knocking. That had been a particularly awkward encounter and one that Stiles was not keen to relive. Ha, these wolves think they're so freaking smart. He continues lounging, the picture of nonchalance as he hears his window slowly lift.

He makes pretence of heaving a pronounced long suffering sigh. "We've talked about this whole knocking thing remember, what if I'd been indecent? Window etiquette's totally gone to hell this century."

He grins pre-emptively, expecting one of Derek's barked responses that consist mainly of 'Shut up Stiles' and 'wah wah wah this is why I need you to harbour my hairy –but sexy- werewolf ass now.' They were so witty. Naturally then the dark and silky smooth retort was enough to plant Stiles face first on his floor as he yelped and flailed himself right off his bed .

"Ooh well I don't know what sort of sordid affair you have with my nephew but I would've thought indecency was kind of the point."

"Zombie wolf?!" Stiles chokes out as he rolls over and scrambles backwards.

"Please, I prefer messiah wolf, the least you could do when you insult me is make it original. I mean are the claws and murder not incentive enough?"

"Hey now! It's an endearing nickname! It's positively cuddly really."

Peter stifles a laugh and stalks over to where Stiles is huddled by his bed still clutching his chest from panic.

"First you're worried about me catching you indecent," Peter says his eyes lingering over Stiles body, flashing with sardonic amusement "and now I'm positively cuddly?"

Stiles gapes stupidly for a moment. How is he supposed to form a cohesive response when there's a psychotic- sexy- axe murdering- probably- creepy uncle wolf-sexy creepy uncle wolf-eyeing him like he's all kinds of edible. Stiles just about smacks himself in the head, repeatedly. Enough of your delusional commentary! You have failed me brain! Traitor. Come to think of it his body isn't exactly being a loyalist either.  
>He swallows and wipes a sweaty palm on his batman shirt.<p>

"Fallacies, paraphrasing," he mutters under his breath. He looks back to Peter who is suddenly way too intimately close with a hand out to Stiles. He reaches out to take it.

"I'd love to hear what you know about phalluses." Peter declares, the words a velvety caress in Stiles ear. Naturally Stiles chokes, literally. He falls back to the floor flushing furiously. Peter withdraws his hand and laughs.

Looking indignant Stiles climbs to his feet. He swallows down a cheer at overcoming the constraints of his own flailing clumsiness. "What are you even doing here?" he asks.

Peter has in the meantime reclined back onto Stiles bed and is lying on his back checking his fingernails. He doesn't bother looking at Stiles as he states without enthusiasm. "Nephew dearest has deigned it in everyone's best interest to watch each other's backs, puppy alpha heartily agrees. And your back is so terribly pale and fragile." He looks to Stiles, grinning, to gage the young man's reaction. "He also felt it poignant to remind me that 'I have nothing better to do' and that 'I should do something useful for a change.' Six years as a amnesiac catatonic invalid doesn't do a whole lot for your events calendar it seems.' Peter says looking pensive but quickly turning it into a default smirk.

"I'm sure you've got a murder or triple homicide pencilled in there somewhere to look forward to." Stiles quips with mock enthusiasm, he continues "thanks for the update and all. But, usually wolf guard/babysitting duty is performed OUTSIDE my window totally covertly and without my knowledge at all." Stiles says mocking the wolves and their sneaky ineptitude. Puh-lease like Stiles wouldn't notice them; well founded paranoia, ADHD and Adderall can make a naturally curious person a deductive savant. He's practically Sherlock Holmes, sociopathy aside, obviously. He'd leave that to Peter. He points at his window to further drive his point across.  
>"Out!"<p>

Peter leans back upon his elbows to look at Stiles. His gaze following the length of Stiles arm to where he was pointing decisively at the window. The wolf rolls his eyes and makes a phhhhh noise with his lips. Stiles puts a hand on his hip still pointing.  
>"Oh yeah, real mature. Come on, out. A teenage boy needs his privacy," he demands. Peter arches an eyebrow suggestively and Stiles fights the urge to face palm himself. He knew he should've gone with beauty sleep. He decides to just point again, Peter heaves a weary sigh in response. He makes a show of groaning as he gets up off the bed.<p>

"Yeah, yeah you're old and decrepit we get it."

Peter looks wounded "I'm not old!" He protests sulking. He regains his composure as he moves past Stiles reaching to squeeze the back of the boys neck gently on the way out. Stiles hand slaps his wrist away forcefully as soon as he realises Peter's intentions. The older man is shocked and looks bemusedly at Stiles who pulls both of his hands in front of himself in a ridiculous martial arts gesture.  
>"Woah woah woah, no touchy buddy! Don't get any ideas; I'm down with the wolfy gestures all right. I am so not about to be dominated by you, ok. So just keep on walking out that window, and don't even think about mounting me." Oh god, did he really just say that. His mouth drops open in surprise, probably so he can ram a big fat foot in there. He recovers and tries to give a look of conviction still waving his karate hands.<p>

Peter snorts in amusement shaking his head. He's halfway out the window when he turns back to Stiles still laughing "Really?", he asks "just really?" before he disappears. Stiles watches him leave lowering his karate hands," yeah that's what I thought." He makes his way over to his laptop on his desk swinging around once in his chair.

Stiles tended towards hyper vigilance especially at night time, probably something to do with the vast amounts of emotional and physical trauma, you know with the assorted messed up nightmares from the great beyond, sleep awakeness and all the gnarly Nogitsune enforced murder dreams, the constant threat of impending supernatural bullshit…yeah it's a long convoluted mess, welcome to Stiles' mind. Anyway he appreciates the wolves sticking around providing a sense of safety, he always feel better around pack, more secure and you know having a potential killing machine watching over you didn't hurt. They never talked about it and it was never specifically ordered or arranged but there was always just a pack member around, either skulking silent sentries or entering with excuses of a sleep over aaaand then there was Peter.  
>Because of his hyper vigilance Stiles couldn't for the life of him sleep without music otherwise he'd be up all night, twitching at the creaks in the house or overanalysing a gust of wind. Music is his saviour, whenever he's aware of his wolfy sentries he tries to customise playlists for them, it just makes it funnier that Peter will be aware it's for him. Stiles snickers as he cracks his knuckles setting to work. He smiles as he tucks himself into bed to the sounds of Wolf by Kingswood.<br>He hears a Derisive snort occasionally and a loud HA as Bad Moon Rising starts playing. He imagines he hears Peter singing along and drifts to sleep with a smile on his face.


	2. Musings of a sociopath

**Chapter 2: Musings of a sociopath **

**Summary:**

Peter finds himself questioning his own motives for playing pack nanny and unwittingly finds himself playing nursemaid.

**Notes:**

**Thanks for the positive feedback guys and fuels my fragile ego, Ha! Fragile. I've been stuck in Peters mindset for a few hours so even to myself that seems a ridiculous statement. Honestly though I really appreciate it.  
>The following chapter is a bit broody and serious but scathing sarcasm and witty banter will return in the next chapter.<br>enjoy.**

Peter tilts his head as he listens intently to the young man shuffling about his room and hears the soft clicking of his laptop. He imagines Stiles writing a diary entry about him, 'his imposing figure stood framed in the moonlight of my window, his V-neck was straining against his chest and biceps' he stops and looks curiously towards the boys window as he hears him chuckle softly before padding to his bed.  
>He quirks an inquisitive brow until the <strong>notes<strong> of a song wash over him. "Wolf mother where've you been you look so worn and so thin," He snorts loudly and silently applauds the boy for his allusion to Peter playing the pack Nanny.  
>He doesn't mind so much really, he likes Stiles. The boy has a flair for drama and never fails to entertain but, it's more than that. Even when he was an amnesiac psychopath he never bit the boy against his will, he didn't even maul him, that's got to count for something right? Now that he's died and come back to himself, no longer a psychopath: rather a sociopath with psychopathic tendencies. He felt like Stiles could be a kindred spirit; he empathises with the boy on his nightmares. Every time Peter drifts into unconsciousness he's wracked by images of flames and the feel of choking heat, he's met by the scared faces of his victims; those he murdered when his wolf had taken control. He is snapped from his reverie by the crooning of credence Clearwater. Ha! Bad moon rising, gotta love a kid who knows his werewolf classics. He sings along softly looking up at the sky reminiscing of pack barbecues and happy families.<br>It was somewhere around "D-I-N-O-S-A-U-R a dinosaur an O-L-D-M-A-N you are an old man," when Stiles breathing became choked and frantic, his heartbeat jumped erratically. Peter looks over in concern, he's torn with indecision. Should he stay out here as ordered or go to the young man. His decision was made for him when the boy's gasps became choked cries, pleas that the older man couldn't ignore. He leaps lithely catching the sill and pouring through the window in a fluid motion. He barely makes a sound as his feet touch down in the room swamped with Stiles fear, panic and disgust.  
>Perhaps if there were witnesses he would've smirked and sneered, providing some witty commentary about how even in his dreams Stiles was the prey or about how he flailed spastically even in unconsciousness. He took the image of the boy in, pale and clammy his arms thrown out arching his back off the bed and tossing his head side to side. Peter hesitates slightly as he approaches Stiles bed but he brings a hand to the boy's forehead, furrowing his brow at how cold he feels. He grabs a flailing arm gently by the wrist, gently rubbing circles over the fragile skin with his thumb. He kneels carefully by the bed, humming slightly to the music as he keeps a bedside vigil.<br>He rolls his eyes at Stiles choice of song; it was obvious to him by now that they were chosen with him in mind. He actually rather likes this song which just makes it worse. Though the song encompasses the complete opposite of what he endeavours to be, well, what he endeavours to be tonight anyway.

"One I love hurting you.  
>Two I love your pain.<br>Three let's get together and play the sinners game.  
>Four is for the torture and<br>Five is for the shame  
>'cause every time you want it<br>I get off on this game."  
>"…l can't help but smile at your pain, you wanted to play but I already won…"<p>

Stiles starts stilling against Peter's soothing ministrations. Peter laughs in his head, nurse Peter, it seems like an unlikely role but it's one he's played before. He had stayed at his niece's bedside when she lay comatose, ready with a wet cloth and soothing touch or word, he painted an odd picture. The ability to care and empathise wasn't ingrained within him; his self-preservation was too strong. Here in these moments though, surrounded by pack and the last vestiges of family he felt like that might be starting to change. He might be on the path to becoming the old -slightly less sociopathic- him; who could do something nice sometimes without even an ulterior motive or end game. …HA! Yeah right Peter you keep telling yourself that. Only what's your end game now? With Cora you were allaying your own guilt about Laura and trying to connect with your nephew, not to mention rid him of his dickish alpha ineptitude.  
>He frowns thoughtfully to himself, thumb still rubbing in soothing circles on Stiles skin. What was he really getting out of this? The pale figure before him emits a low moan, Peter shivers nerves zinging, he shakes himself lightly but becomes even more hyper aware of Stiles body and his slightly parted lips, oh. Right THAT. He took his palm off Stiles forehead raising it to his own, rubbing his temples wearily. What was wrong with him? A lot. That was rhetorical brain he huffs at himself and rolls his eyes into his hand. A lot, that much was obvious. A familiar coiling and pulling starts thrumming through the veins of his left arm. He looks up curiously from over the hand on his face surprised at the sensation, removing it as he finds his body hadn't been lying. The black dragging itself up his wrist and into his body is testament to that. What could be causing Stiles physical pain? He's asleep whatever was in his head shouldn't manifest itself physically in his body, especially in unconsciousness. That was concern number one on his mind, concern number two made his brow crease: he'd never inadvertently and only rarely ever purposefully taken someone else's pain as his own.<br>Stiles face had lost its pinched strain and as he watched a look of relief washes over it. Almost immediately the boy's body is devoid of tension. A small sigh escapes from between his lips, his pouty full lips. Peter resists the urge to run his thumb tenderly over them. Stiles turns on his side curling towards Peter unconsciously pulling his arm closer.

**Notes:**

**Oh Peter you damaged soul. I love him for his anti hero attitude but I also feel sorry for him, its not entirely his fault that he's like this. He's had some pretty messed up stuff happen to him, poor thing, hopefully I can bring him some happiness ;P.**

**The Lyrics in this chapter are from Korn's song lullaby for a sadist. For any of you out their trying to empathise with a tortured soul I recommend you give their latest album a listen.**

**As always thank you for reading my friends a little love is always appreciated and a lot of love leaves me beaming like an idiot. I'll always try to respond to comments so hit me up. Even if you think it sucks hairy testes haha.**

**crash x.**


	3. I moustache you to stop

**Summary:**

Peter might've had a tender moment last night but he still gets bored and he definitely resented a few of Stiles song choices. Karma is a cruel mistress after all and Peter was glad to play her hand maiden.

or where Stiles attempts to beat Peter in a war of the pranking variety.

**Notes:**

Hi guys. Thank you all so much for reading and the kudos. Oh I love the love! You're all diamonds.  
>So last chapter was touchy feely but ultimately essential for character development etc so neeeeeerrrrr! Any way this chapter is the beginning of a war of the pranking variety but Stiles will have to be one crafty sod to beat or maniacal satan in a V-Neck. Derek and Scott cameo hilariously in this chpater and start to become a little more prominent. Any who onwards to reading *comical zoomy wooshy sound*<p>

**Chapter Text**

Stiles consciousness slams back into existence at the tell-tale click of a camera phone snapping a picture. He blinks his eyes blearily shutting his open mouth and smacking away the collection of drool pooling in the corner. He groans and focuses his eyes finally seeing the phone and its attached owner barely a foot from his face, by his bed, in his room. He slams an arm out but alas too slow for wolfy reflexes.

"Yeah, because that's not creepy," Stiles grumbles throwing his arm over his face and huddling further into his blankets. Peter laughs and looks at the image on his phone, priceless. While the image of Stiles mouth gaping open and a veritable lake of drool gathering on his own arm was funny in itself; it was made funnier by the well groomed, marker handlebar moustache Peter had drawn on him while he slept. Peter might've had a tender moment last night but he still gets bored and, he definitely resented a few of Stiles song choices. Karma is a cruel mistress after all and Peter was glad to play her hand maiden. He laughs loudly scrolling through his phone and selecting a few contacts before hitting send.

"Ugh, go away!" Stiles protests, the sound muffled under the blanket. Peter grins but is ready to comply until he hears a grumbled "dogs belong outside," and some unintelligible sleepy complaints. Peters eyes narrow dangerously but glint with dark humour. He sidles up to the boys bed and slides his hands under the mattress. He barks a laugh and quickly lifts one side, the boy and mattress flipping onto the floor. He was still laughing as he jumped out the window listening to the squawk of protest and violent cursing.

Stile furiously attempted to disentangle himself from his blankets underneath his mattress prison. He manages to free most of his arms and angrily thrusts the mattress onto its side until it leans precariously against his bed frame. His head pops up scanning the room for the insufferable sleep ruining creeper a look of contemptuous disdain prepared for him. He exhales violently, it figures he wouldn't still be here, Peter values his life too much. Still grumbling and muttering under his breath he gets up violently kicking any object obstructing his path to the kitchen. This mess would be bettered handled by a caffeinated and Showered Stiles.

Peter loiters outside Stiles room leaning against the side of the house. He smiles to himself as he hears the teen kick something in anger only to swear and hop ungainly for a few feet before falling over himself. Oh, this was soo worth it Peter croons happily to himself in his head. His phone buzzes against his thigh.

**Nephew buzzkill:**  
>Yeah, that's not creepy<p>

Peter chuckles and starts tapping, he can just picture Derek's confused frown. He endeavours one day to be the cause of the inevitable merging of his nephews eyebrows into one entity.

**His reply read:**  
>Please, its already your phone background. No need to thank me.<br>Almost immediately he receives a reply.

**Nephew buzzkill:**  
>I hate you.<p>

Peter laughs and texts him an xx in response. He checks another message that came through.

**My favourite Banshee:**  
>Nice strong lines, you're quite the artist.<p>

Peter was quite proud of his handiwork too, especially as he hears the furious and surprised shriek as Stiles inevitably looked into a reflective surface. Peter pauses head tilted, a second outraged yell comes from within making Peter laugh loudly and lope off hearing what he'd been waiting for.

Stiles rubs his face having braved the obstacle course that is the stairs and inhales the deliciousness that is black coffee. He pities the heathens their creamer and sugar. With his prize safely ensconced in his palms he makes his way up to the bomb site. He flops down into his swivel chair sipping with one hand and checking his phone with the other. He has two messages.

**Sourwolf:**  
>What have I told you about letting strange men in through your window?<p>

Stiles smirks into his cup then frowns, wait, how did he know Peter was in his room. He checks the other.

**Great Scott!:**  
>Dude nice moustache.<p>

He puts his phone down and his frown becomes more confused. He runs a hand over his upper lip, he wasn't growing a moustache. He's pretty sure he's not even capable of growing one. His eyes widen. No, he wouldn't dare! The realisation hits him, who is he kidding Peter totally would dare. Stiles slams his cup down forcefully ejecting himself from the chair which rolls away. He skids determinedly into the bathroom and shrieks in shock.  
>"You sneaky asshatted mother fucker !" He yells after gaping a few seconds. There is a big brown and frankly quite impressive brown handlebar moustache imprinted on his face. He tilts his head to observe it from a different angle, his eyes fall on another mark. Its smaller in comparison but he doesn't need to get closer to read it. He lets out a roar of indignant rage and scrubs at it, it doesn't budge. Nope, 'Peter was here' was still scrawled neatly in what was apparently permanent marker across his jugular. Well he should be thankful his newly acquired facial hair wasn't as immovable, but he was too distracted by the raucous laughter that was rapidly becoming more distant.<br>"Yeah you better run!" Stiles mutters darkly already plotting his retaliation. He eyes himself in the mirror rubbing his chin he looks every bit the stereotypical evil genius, it looks like a visit to the argents is on the cards today.

After a day of awkward encounters questioning his winter apparel on a 90 degree day Stiles comes home, flinging the horrendous scarf on the floor and stomping on it as he rubs his neck. He viciously curses Peter and his "totally hilarious" shenanigans. Yes, even in his mind his sarcasm is scathing. He flops on his bed feeling slightly less murderous than earlier after having visited the Argents. He stretches out, pleasantly surprised to find how relaxed and loose he feels despite having being dumped unceremoniously from his bed only this morning. Usually after having nightmares- he grimaces as he remembers those from the night before- he wakes up tight and anxious; his muscles twisted and sore from trying to gain control of his body, like when he'd been riding shotgun to the Nogitsune. Void Stiles still dominated his dreams and Stiles still fought him vehemently, trying desperately to stop his limbs from their horrendous actions. He physically shakes those disturbing thoughts away grabbing the bag he'd brought in and starts preparing his payback.

**Notes:**

**Thanks for reading! I hope you laughed as much as I did :P**  
><strong>As always leave me some love and a magical fairy will plant more hilarious words into my head which I shall then share with the world! Also it makes me happy haha. The next chapters will be out soon and are beyond hilarious. Not to brag or anything they just are. Don't be afraid to hit me up with a comment.<strong>

**Thanks lovelies.**  
><strong> x.<strong>


	4. The doorbell (of I so don't want to know

**Summary:**

Stiles revenge plot goes horribly- and hilariously- awry, resulting in the sacreligious assault of action figures a truly evil piece of lego and some non-consensual bondage.  
>Yeah in hindsight his revenge could've gone better.<p>

**Notes:**

This is a slapstick chapter - arent they all- that is light on the Peter and heavy on the hilarity. For those who are fans of our favourite sexy uncle never fear the next two chapters are all about the god of psychotic v-neck goodness. My apoligies sociopathic.  
>As always I had so much fun writing this so I dont care if you dont like it...lies. Send some love . It makes me happy. Especially since I should be doing homework.<p>

(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)

**Chapter Text**

He's not even in his room to witness the beauty of his revenge on uncle sexy/creepy: he's dancing around in the shower frenetically shaking his thang to art vs science in all their electronic glory. "Higher and higher and hi-Yah!" He crows, violently splattering suds everywhere with his exuberant karate chop. He stops comically when hears the tell-tale yelping bark of surprise and violent cursing. Stiles practically falls over himself in his attempt to escape the shower and bear witness to the aftermath and hilarity. He slips on the tiles and skids through the room grabbing a towel as an afterthought and runs out onto the landing. He's at the top of the stairs dripping wet an expression of victorious glee on his face when he sees his father at the door talking to a very, insanely- eye brow unified - glowering Derek. They've both looked up and are staring at him as he thunders onto the scene. Sheriff Stilinski looks between the two of them completely unable to comprehend the situation , raising his hands in defeat he leaves the door open and walks to the kitchen.

Stiles is too concerned with his future longevity to care when his father shouts from the kitchen. "I'm going to eat this bacon and there's not a damn thing you're going to do about it!" There's also some vague mutterings of "fucking supernatural werewolf business, better off not knowing.. I'm so done", but Stiles is busy trying to co-ordinate running for his life and holding his towel up. He makes into his room before Derek and leans against the locked door, the towel long forgotten. He hears Derek growling on the other side but takes comfort in the knowledge that Derek's trying to maintain a good relationship with the law, and whilst attempted murder of an annoying teenager is apparently ok, intentional destruction of property is not.  
>"So is there any scenario where this doesn't end in maiming?" Stiles asks none to hopefully. He gets a short snarl in response and a thump as Derek kicks the door.<br>"I'm going to take that as a no. Is there at least a scenario where this happens when I'm wearing pants?"He can practically hear Derek roll his eyes. He scuttles from the door hurriedly throwing pants on, managing to trip over him-self only twice. He hears another yelp and almost immediately his door-bell rings.

Sheriff Stilinksi sighs as he gets up to open the door ,he has a mouthful of double bacon burger when he's met with a very mournful looking Scott. He gives an imperious gesture of enter and walks back to the lounge where he's watching a game before work.  
>Scott curiously trots up the stairs, hearing a loud thumping and various pleas of " Come on now Derek be reasonable! Ow shit! Be the Human DEREK! BE THE HUMAN! Fuck! No Not Batman! SWEET BABY JESUS! Sacrilege Derek! I take it back you're an animal! NO RESPECT! …." It's curiously quiet for a minute and he hears Stiles whimper. " I take it back ! I TAKE IT BACK! UNCLE ! UNCLE!"<br>Not entirely sure he wants to know Scott cautiously peeks around stiles doorway, sans door, which is propped neatly against the wall unscrewed from the hinges. In the middle of the carnage of thrown action figures, scratched DVDs and burst feather pillows Derek smirks at him, a predatory victorious grin from atop his perch of Stiles prone form.  
>Stiles see's Scott and his eyes widen in a silent begging plea, trying out puppy-dog eyes which only really work when Scott or Isaac do it. Scott laughs and crosses his arms leaning against the wall. He shakes his head as he says "No way dude, that freakin hurt. How hard is it to warn a brother? Seriously it'd take like two seconds: ' by the way bro I've electrified my window sill, just FYI.' You're on your own." He watches passively, amused as Derek grins and triumphantly continues to hog tie the struggling teens ankles to his wrists ;sitting down hard on him when he struggles too much. Stiles lets out an oomph of air and goes prone as he gives up. Derek pats his butt in reconciliatory manner.<br>" Atta boy Stiles take it like a man." Stiles just groans and Scott snickers loudly, satisfied with his work Derek nods and joins Scott.  
>The pair stand in front of stiles in identical poses of consideration : heads tilted slightly , hands against their chins. Stiles glares at them from his defenceless position trying to wriggle on his stomach his limbs tied in a complicated serious of knots behind him.<br>"I hope you're happy." Stiles bites out as he accidentally bumps his forehead against a particularly heinous obviously possessed piece of Lego.  
>Derek quirks an eyebrow and shrugs, looking to Scott. " Yeah I'm pretty happy, Scott?"<br>Scott grins cheekily and nods "yeah, I think we're done here"  
>Stiles turns his head and squishes half his face against the ground to better give the two wolves before him what he considers to be his death glare of death. Scott laughs again and the two assholes have the nerve, THE AUDACITY to high five one another and walk away. Ass holes!. Ok so in hindsight maybe he should've warned them but still it's not polite to call upon someone unexpectedly and…Wait were they really leaving . Wait! He struggles more violently against his bonds sputtering after them.<br>"Wait you're not just going to leave me here?! Guys? Guys?! GUYS?!" He yells an unintelligible curse as he attempts to hulk out of the restraints and is puffing and wheezing when Scott's head pops into his doorway.  
>"Don't worry dude, I'm sure someone will come rescue you." He winks and picks up a sheaf of research papers from Stiles desk giving him a pat on his way back past. Stiles listens as he and Derek say goodbye to his father. Oh god they were really gone. How the hell did he manages to get into these situations and who the hell was supposed to rescue him. Stupid adorable Scott winks he grumbles angrily.<br>Not five minutes after the wolves have left there's another chime of the doorbell. Stiles father on his way out fastens his gun belt and frowns in exasperation as he opens the door. He folds his arms a look of unamused expectation on his face. He considers the man on his threshold taking in the musculature and deep v that his son's wolves seem to have a penchant for and arches an eyebrow. The man smiles politely and extends his hand in greeting .  
>"Good evening sir do you have a moment to talk about our lord and saviour Jesus Christ?"<br>Stilinski rolls his eyes and snorts jerking his thumb into the house "He's upstairs" before ignoring the mans hand in favour of stepping past him to get to his cruiser and out of this madhouse. Peter waves at him from the threshold still smiling before entering the house.

**Notes:**

Thanks for reading!  
>Art vs Science is my favourite band and their song Higher is the sort of random eccentric electro nonsense that I can totally picture Stiles boogying to, naked. :P The next two chapters are all about uncle sexy so prepare for the goodness and banter and Derek smashing lamps.<br>thanks lovelies.  
>Crash x.<p> 


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